


Becoming Evelyn Trevelyan

by carmelitilla



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abusive Parents, F/M, Hadriana before Danarius, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Physical Abuse, Slave Fenris, Slavery, Tevinter, Tevinter Imperium, some original character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmelitilla/pseuds/carmelitilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years before the Fifth Blight, the girl who will one day be known as the Herald of Andraste, is coming of age in Minrathous. Little does she know that her birthday present is an Antivan Crow in disguise, hired to kill her father for his Imperium-threatening ideas of time travel magic. Less does she know, her first love is to be that very same silver-tongued 'slave'. </p><p>Evening Alexius' forbidden feelings find her in similar circumstance with her father's newest apprentice, Dorian Pavus, whom also has something to hide. Their unlikely friendship will ultimately save her from her father's wrath and shepherd her into the protection of House Trevelyan. </p><p>An idea sparked from this snippet on Dragon Age Wiki. "The Trevelyans have relatives among the nobility of Nevarra and the Tevinter Imperium most notably House Pavus. The Trevelyans also maintain a relationship with the Montilyet family of Antiva." </p><p>Tags and ratings subject to change and expand through progression of story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if this is something you would be interested in reading in the comments...

     "Tomorrow's the big day," Mother says, peaking at me over her book. Her eyes are tiny indigo pebbles under the wrinkled bank of her brow. 

     "I'm looking forward to it as well," I tell her. It's a lie. 

     "I'm so proud of you," she says almost to herself. I notice her hands shake as she reaches for her tea. She's aged this past year, become more anxious. My brother's honourary tour to Qunaris is to blame for that. Felix was convinced he had to at least try to serve with his countrymen. Personally, I thought it was better that the Qunari have Seheron. We'll stay on our side of the Nordic Sea, you stay on your side. Easy enough. At least he would be back soon - 

     "Would you like that?" 

     "It sounds perfect, Mother," I say, startled that she's been talking this whole time. Probably something about place settings, or what colour the table cloths will be. 

     "Excuse me, Lady Alexius," Mava interrupts appearing beside Mother's chair. Her dark hair is pulled so tightly into a bun that it flattens the crows feet around her almond eyes. 

     "What is it?" Mother asks without looking at the elven woman. The firelight fills the dips between her cheek bones and jaw. I hope Mother hasn't been restricting her meals as punishment again. 

     "Master has sent Taeran for Mistress Evening." 

     Mother smiles like she knows a secret. She nods and Mava summons a slave I haven't seen before. He's new, maybe a month to our household. I can tell because the brand of our house is still scabbing on his right hand. He bows to both of us, Mother first of course. His mop of brown hair falls into his face and he hastens to pull it back. I giggle at that and Mother shushes me. 

    "If you will, my lady," Taeran begs quietly, trained eyes on the ceramic tiles. I say his name twice over in my mind to remember it. 

    "Mother," I bow and follow Taeran.

     In the hall elven bodies are scurrying to draw the curtains for the evening. The dim glow of twilight reflects where the covered windows almost touch the ceiling and floor. I let my fingers trail over their velvet, still warm from the retreating sun.

     Taeran's hips sway slightly with his walk as he leads me. His tunic is too tight. It makes his shoulder blades stand out against his back. He has the look of a boy whose just beginning to fill out his adult body, like Felix. More than one girl blushes as we pass, each either avoiding eye contact with both of us, or shooting him coy glances from under their lashes. 

     Looking back, I see a girl, carrying a basket from the gardens, hush another. When she looks up for Taeran, again, and finds me watching instead, she grabs the other's arm and spins on her heels. I smile. It would seem handsome Taeran is the talk of Alexius Manor.

     "You've made quite the impression," I say, still grinning. We round the corner of the Manor, still within the main hall that connects its West and South sides. 

    "It seems so, Mistress," Taeran slows so he can walk parallel with me. 

    "Your Master must have taken good care of you, before."

    "He did, Mistress."

    "Why did he sell you?" 

    Taeran accidentally looks up, confused. He apologizes immediately but I wish he would show me his jade coloured eyes again.  

    "You don't have to tell me," I offer. I hadn't realized the answer could be quite personal. In fact, the reason might get him in trouble with Father. 

    "I come from a strong line of labourers, Mistress. My previous Master saw the opportunity to fetch a good price from me, for, to -" Taeran's sighs and shakes his head, exasperated with himself. 

   "You're a stallion," I tell him, watching him blush for the second time since I'd met him. 

   Taeran nods. It made sense, most of our long residency slaves were older, past their prime. Father had mentioned he wanted to start a new residency line. 

   "Have you other children?" 

   "No, Mistress." 

   I sigh, both in relief and displeasure. I say a silent prayer that Taeran be able to sire children at all, and thank Andraste that he hadn't left a family behind.

   "Here we are, Mistress," Taeran says pulling on the faux drawstring of the last curtain. The ending wall of the hall betrays the silhouette of a door in its ivory paint. It swings inward greeting us with warm torch light. "Will that be all?" 

   I grasp my wrists behind my back. I want to warn him. He's careful, but I suspect he's been treated superiorly in his previous house because of his potential worth. Father treats all the slaves equally in our house, which might find him on the wrong end of a surprise. But what could I do? Tell him to rally for Felix's favour? Felix was too picky of his slaves. One man to every five or more women. Perhaps I could watch over him? "That will be all," I finally concede. 

   Taeran bows and closes the door behind me as I disappear down the marble staircase to Father's lab. I count the emeralds in the steps as I descend, there are three in each step. The damp skunk-like smell of deathroot, mingling with the pungent spice of elfroot, hits me like a wall as I step onto the hard floor.

    I scrunch up my nose as I pass by the alcove hung with herbs. A fire burns quietly in the stone forge beside it. "Father?" I call, avoiding the precariously placed tongs and hammers a top its surrounding counters.

   I grip one of the short columns on the outer ring of the centred summoning circle. I lean over it not wanting to go further. I've never liked the lab. It reminds me too much of a dungeon with the wrought iron cells for creatures and naughty slaves lining the inner wall. "Father?" 

    "Just a moment, Evie." Father's voice comes from the washing chamber behind his desk. 

   The intertwined dragon and snake of the Imperium hiss at me as I jump over where they're carved within the circle. Father's desk, a large sturdy thing of mahogany wood, is as neat as always. Three gold chalices shine amongst an assortment of thickly bound books. The closest has a green tentacle-chinned skull on its front.

   Father backs through the ebony swinging doors, and I jerk away from the desk. He's wiping his hands on a sullied towel.

   "Daughter," he smiles warmly showing perfect white teeth. He holds out his towel and a world-weary hand slips out of the shadows to take it from him. I hadn't even noticed the elderly slave. It unsettled me that they were always hiding in plain sight.

  Father beckons me to his side. "You grow more lovely with each passing day," he says bringing smooth palms to cup my cheeks.

  "Thank-you, Father," I smile back. 

  "I cannot tell you how anxious I am for tomorrow. There's so much to celebrate," he sighs dropping his hands. "Come." 

  Father picks up one of the chalices and I hear the scratch of it's contents dancing within. He leads me back through the summoning circle to the forge. 

  "Are you aware of all the opportunities you will be granted starting tomorrow?" Father sets a flat stone over the fire. 

  "I'll be an official member of the Imperium." I say, a day many noble children of Tevinter never see. "I'll be able to vote, marry and vie for a seat in the Imperial Senate." 

   Father nods. He pours the chalice onto the flat stone. I gasp as many tiny diamonds skip across the stone. Father draws up the fire with a whisper. It flickers green, licking around the flat stone and turning the diamonds white hot.

   "What else, my dear?" 

   I look away from the melting diamonds and into Father's dark eyes. I see a sparkle of pride there, even if he looks down the large curve of his nose at me. "I'll be able to apprentice under a Magister," I say squaring my shoulders. Felix was the heir of the house of course, he would apprentice to become a Magister first. My training was simply a precaution. I tired not to be jealous of him.

   "Yes," Father concedes tipping the flat stone to pour the now liquid diamonds back into the chalice. "And what do we know are the two pillars of being a Magister?"

   Father always loved his mantras. He believed in special reverence for the rules.

   There are three pillars in my opinion. The first is that Magisters tended to have short life spans, especially if they were no fun at parties. Acting and playing the part of a Magister was just as likely to save your life as arcane skill.

    I follow Father when he takes the chalice to the closest counter. His special attention to me lately is disconcerting. I wonder if the change in his attitude is because Felix is away, or because he's realized Felix is a terrible actor.

   "Evie?" Father croons, standing on the opposite side of the counter.

   "A Magister must always have a hidden source of power," I recall. "And a Magister must not fear pain."

   "Very good. Place your hands on the counter."

    I look nervously at the chalice.

    "Remember the pillars, my dear."

    I try not to tremble as I follow his command. The smooth surface is cool against my palms.

    Father pushes the fingers on either side of my ring fingers as far as they will separate. He clicks his tongue and a slave appears with a set of silvery cloths. Father tucks the first two around my little fingers. The last he uses to cover from the middle finger on my left hand to the middle on my right. I shiver in anticipation.  _A Magister must not fear pain._

    "This is your last gift before tomorrow," Father soothes patting my hand through the cloth. His voice never sounded quite right when he tried to be comforting - like he was ordering me to be at ease. 

    Father moves quickly. He pours the contents of the chalice over both my fingers before my mind registers the searing pain. I cry out and his hands clamp down on my wrists locking me to the counter.

    "Call ice to your hands, Evening."

   I look away from him, biting hard on my cheek. I pull desperately at my mana. Hoarfrost envelops the counter but hesitates around my fingers. "It hurts!" I beg, the tongue of the cold is condemning.

   "Do it," Father orders.

   I hiss as I obey, the cold a burn akin to the first.

   Father flips my hands breaking them from the rapidly cooling liquid and scattering the cloths. I watch, horrified, as he moulds the diamond into points. He whispers again but I can't hear him over my panting. My ring fingers tingle, the pain ebbing slightly as the diamonds glimmer, hardening to razor sharp as they fuse with my nail beds.

   Father inspects his handy work. "Perfection," he breathes, his breath is hot over the back of my palm.

   I snatch my hands away from him. They throb insistently.

  "Now, even without a dagger, you will be able to draw blood." 

   I look down at my shaking hands. I curl them into fists careful not to put any pressure on my ring fingers. 

   "You can thank me after you reflect," Father sighs. "Perhaps in the morning before -" 

   "Thank-you, Father," I say automatically, fearfully. He sounds pleased when he speaks next.

   "Best to show your Mother tomorrow, once the swelling has receded."

    I nod unable to meet his eyes. 

    "Taeran?" 

   I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs and Taeran comes to stand beside me. Father frowns noticing his lack of stealth.

   "Take my daughter to her chambers. Bring her a basin full of ice for her hands while she rests."

    Taeran starts at Father's voice, he was peaking my hands, clutched close to my chest.

   "Well, go on, boy!" Father says sternly. We both jump. 

   "Come, Mistress." Taeran accidentally meets my eye over his shoulder when he checks to see that I am following. I hope for his sake Father doesn't notice. 

 


	2. Dinning with Magisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father knew I wasn’t overly fond of parties. 
> 
> Mother didn’t care.
> 
> I was coming of age and no expense would be spared.
> 
> Mother suggested a thoroughbred.
> 
> Father agreed, it was the proper and Tevene thing to do.
> 
> I frowned knowing we weren’t speaking of horses.

Springtime in Minrathous was my favourite. The greedy, clutching vestiges of winter fought the creeping, choking humidity of summer back. You could smell the sea air from over the Hunterhorn marble walls that surround the island and enjoy the tang of it, without gagging on the salt of it. 

I watch the sun rise perched on a stone detail outside my bed chamber window. It's one of a series of ruffles that spiral around the Manor's tower, just wide enough for a bum. The sun drags the shadows from the island, hitting the farthest edge of baubled towers as it peaks over the defensive wall. The sun bleached buildings seem to grow up out of the cobblestone and river lane-ways.

The soporati are already out painting and fixing the detailing in the architecture, mostly mouldings once deep emeralds or glinting golds. The oldest human city in Thedas needs plenty of upkeep. You can read it's memoirs in the back alleys, where crumbling walls go without care.

It's easy to forget there is a world outside of Minrathous. Everyone has lived the same way for so long, you being to imagine it has always been that way - should always be that way. I look down at my hands. My ring fingers sparkle between blisters. Diamond nails, the last of seventeen gifts leading up to my eighteenth birthday. I'd cut my thigh trying to change into bed clothes they were so sharp.

"Now, even without a dagger, you will be able to draw blood," I repeat Father's words to a bird on the sill. What exactly had Father meant by that? I doubted he foresaw me in a physical altercation. He had tied the nails to his pillars of being a Magister. A Magister must always have a hidden source of power, and a Magister must never fear pain. 

I shook my head at the horizon. Blood wasn't a hidden source of power. There was nothing secretive about blood magic, unless you counted that it was talked about in whispers. Everyone knew how to manipulate the power of blood, some preferred it to lyrium. If that was the hidden source Father implied I wouldn't fall prey to it.

I stood carefully to climb back through the window. If I was to be a Magister, I wanted to be like the true Magisters. Like the first Archon. Thalsian was a Somniaribefore he learned blood magic from the Old God. Blood magic would only make it harder to enter the Fade. Than again, sending a spell into the enemy's blood, and using blood to supplement my power, were two different things. Perhaps that was what Father had meant. Still, inflicting that much pain?

I try to manoeuvre over the long table along the inside of the window. I lose my footing and fall through onto my shoulder, showering the pile of books from it. My _Tome of Arcane Technique_ settles beside Josephus'  _The Four Schools: A Treatise_ _,_ split open where I've dogeared the spells of  _Creation_.

 _Opposition in all things:_  
_For earth, sky_  
_For winter, summer_  
_For darkness, Light._  
_By My will alone is balance sundered_  
_And the world given new life._  
_\--Threnodies_  5:5.*

"What in Thedas are you doing on the floor?" 

I look up to see my old nursemaid shutting the chamber door. 

"I - ah," I hastily close the book, gasping when the cover catches my nails.

"Venhedis," Adorala, Addy for short, curses. She hurries to my side. I smell fresh cut grass and mint tea as she cups me under my armpits and heaves me up. She brushes off my night gown and I'm all but five again. 

I open my mouth, not sure whether to retort or thank her. I close it when she purses her blue painted lips at me. 

"I wasn't on the ledge, I swear," I smirk.

Addy sighs and bends to pick up the books around me. 

"Ah, ah!" she scolds when I bend to help her. "Unless you're going to heal those fingers of yours?" she asks placing the books back on the table.

I grip my wrists behind my back instead. Healing myself would only serve to make Father suspicious. 

"That's what I thought," she tells me. She runs a plump hand over her boy-short white hair. "You shouldn't have things like this out, Amatus. I could have been your Mother."

I nod, not that I think Mother should care if I want to study Creation. 

"Ah, but you're not a child anymore are you," the old woman reminds herself. With a shake of her head she grips my shoulders and steers me towards the dressing chamber. 

I giggle, "I'm sure I'll always be a child to you, hahren." 

"Hush, child!" Addy flicks my ear at her old nickname. 

"Must you scold me for everything?" I laugh, leaning back against her hands. She is the largest and strongest elf I have ever met, my resistance hardly slows us. "If I remember correctly, you told me to call you that."

Addy curses again. "Only because you - just go and change into your underwear." 

I roll my eyes and flick my fingers at the crystal chandelier in the smaller room. Sparks jump along it's branches, charging the lyrium-gem pedals at it's tips, and energizing them to a soft white-blue luminescence. The walls are so thickly lined with tiers of clothes I've forgotten their original colour. Most of the hanging garments are dark, navy or black. This except for the ceremonial robes which stick out in the gold and red of our house heraldry.

In the centre are two thinly cushioned armchairs, worn from use. The outfit Mother's picked for the occasion is lain over the hope chest between them. Beside it are a pair of red leather judphurs and toppled knee high boots. 

I bend and shake until my night gown slips over my shoulders and onto the tile. The fur of the bear rug under the furniture tickles my toes. "I'm surprised she doesn't pick my small clothes as well," I call to Addy. Her response is a hearty chuckle from the other room. 

I pinch and wriggle until I've managed my underwear and breast wrap, a long run of black silk. Addy appears once I've pulled up my leathers. She laces my boots and holds the waist of the skirt for me to step into. It's shorter in the front, arching just above my knees before sweeping to the floor in the back. I look skeptically at the final piece, a black corset embroidered silver threaded feathers. 

"Go on," Addy ushers. "You look beautiful in everything, Evening." 

I sigh and hold the corset to my chest. Addy ties everything into an artful bow on my low back. 

"Presenting Evening Alexius," I whisper to myself. 

"Magister Evening Alexius," Addy corrects with a smile. "One day, at least." 

"I don't have quite as much faith as you, hahren," I smooth the wrinkles in my skirt. 

"That's alright, I've enough for both of us." Addy kisses my brow. "Just promise me something?"

"Anything," I tell her. I think her golden eyes are glistening.

"Wherever the world beckons, you take me with you."

I tilt my head to the side. She's whispered it. It's a secret wish, a disguised request. I nod, because why would anyone want to be a slave? "I promise."

Addy gives me a tight smile. She wipes her eyes with a frustrated grunt and the moment has passed. "Come, let's do something about this tangle of curls you call hair." 

 

 

 

I'm not sure Mava looks better today. She's as neat and pristine as always, but the bags under her eyes have purpled. Her formal black cloak billows behind her as she leads me to Mother.

Most of the staff and slaves are busying themselves in the guest wing of the manor. Mother wants the guest list to be a surprise, but if the luggage piled in the entry way is any indication, at least half are from outside of Minrathous. I hurry after Mava weary of being left behind in the unusual quiet. 

The inner halls of the manor line the courtyard. They are made almost entirely of shuttered archways that open behind curtains of stringed crystals. The slaves have pulled the shutters open in preparation for the party. Between the winking crystals I glimpse a few of them preening the grapevines among the marble columns.

"Mava," I say, slowing her brisk pace. I'm certainly in no rush to see Mother. I thread my fingers through the crystals and pass through them. 

I smile at a young elven girl who shoots past me, running after a younger boy. My boots skip over the intricately patterned tiles that weave carelessly through the garden. Blue-violet hydrangeas bundle up out of white and black pebbled flower beds that line the path. A woman is watering their pairing ferns and shrubs. The little girl from before cries and pulls on her skirt. 

I watch, following the path to where it loops under a canopy of vines connecting four of the columns. The little boy runs up and pulls on the girl's ponytail. With a sharp whine the chase begins again. I laugh and pick a grape from above. A caw startles me before I pop it into my mouth. A crow lands on the rose arbour across from me. It fixes me with a beady eye, shifting back and forth. 

"Mistress," Mava draws my attention. She fixes me with a stern frown from where I entered. 

I look back to the crow but it's gone. I blink twice. I don't remember ever having seen crows in Minrathous before. Gulls, but never crows. 

"Mistress, please."

I pinch the grape between my teeth and hurry back to Mava. She spins on her heel and I think the nest of a bun a top her head might topple over. She ushers me into the foyer of Mother's chambers. She closes the heavy doors behind me with a snap.

"Well, let me see, let me see!" Mother flutters her hands and feet in excitement as she approaches me. 

I hold out my hands to her. 

"Ah," she says, gripping my fingers. I try not to gasp under her red fingernails. "They're beautiful!" Mother peaks up at me. "Congratulations, darling!"  

I smile and take my hands back, gently. 

"You took your time getting here though, was Mava late?" Mother's thin lips purse into a well-worn frown. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter. Come, come!"

Mother leads me by the wrist to her dark pine vanity. The wood matches the square moulding details in the walls. They frame our family paintings - the first is painted over cream to match the walls but you can still see the darker details of Father's first marriage. Hellen, I think her name was. Grandmother told me once she died in a boating accident. The second time she told me it was a carriage fire.

In the second Felix is three and Mother stands sideways behind him, plump and joyful in pregnancy. Father has his ear to her belly, a wide grin across his face. His smile fades as the years ware on. In the last it's a mere smirk aimed in my direction as I laugh at Felix, seated beside me. 

I sit and look into the vanity. I looked more like Mother back then. Now the blue tone of her black hair has gone grey and visitors guess that trait in me is from someone far back in the Alexius line. The plumpness of my face that made it round like Mother's has thinned revealing Father's square jaw and high cheek bones. Even my eyes have faded from her striking blue to grey.

"Now, this," Mother says opening a drawer in the vanity. From it she pulls a diadem with tear drop rubies and dangling chains. "Is from Halward Pavus, and his family."

I look at her wearily. "What do they want?"

Mother shrugs. "Nothing," she says fitting the diadem across my forehead and tucking it into my curls. The tiny linked chains fall just under my eyes, across my cheeks in loops that attach to the largest ruby centred between my brows. "The letter said Felix had mentioned missing your party and that they wanted to wish you a happy birthday." 

I run a finger along the curve of the chains. "Well, it's beautiful." 

Mother nods, "You'll have to write them to tell them so." She reaches into the next drawer. "Your brother, of course, sent this," she frowns. She pulls out a silverite pauldron. 

"Felix sent this!?" I smile picking it from her hands. It fits over my right shoulder, engraved with the dragon and serpent. I hasten to pull the black leather strap across my chest and adjust the cape that is sewn into the under padding.

"Careful, darling," Mother says shooing my hands. She pulls a chain from the pauldron across my collar and hooks it through a loop in the fabric at my other shoulder before securing it beside the buckle of the leather strap. 

I turn eagerly and watch as the plate that juts from it, rimmed with rubies as well, guards my chin. I wish Felix could see my stupid grin. 

"I suppose it does match," Mother concedes.

I nod vigorously and she sighs. She pulls my curls back and drapes them over my shoulders. “I'm glad you're excited. I never came of age in the house of a proud Magister, but I remember signing my first deed."

The smile drops from my face. The expression doesn't suit the all the sparking gems. Funny thing about jewels, the way they fluctuate in value depending on where you sell them – like people.

"The Archon is attending." I pale but Mother doesn't notice as she goes about her ministrations. 

Did that mean I would be signing the deed from Archon Daven himself? Would the slave be a Qunari, worthless after falling to  _bas_? Would he be Dalish, worth a hundred  _shemlen_? 

"Raphael will be there as well,” Mother runs her hands over my shoulders. "He’s had his eye on you for quite some time.” Mother draws my ash grey eyes to hers. I swallow and try to regain some composure. 

“Tall, dark and lacking in mystery surrounding his leisurely activities,” I feign nonchalance and flee from the chair. Raphael was ankle deep in debauchery but he was apprentice to an Magister. I wonder if he’s ever given a second thought to owning the deed to a life.

"He'll grow out of that, noble boys love being rebellious." I feel Mother's eyes on me and I begin to pace the foyer. "There's no need to be nervous, Evening." 

I disagreed. The pins in my hair were too tight and not tight enough at the same time. What if the diadem fell into the first course of dinner? My corset chaffed under my breasts and I thought I might sweat through my leather judhpurs. 

“You’ve had underlings before, why should this be any different?”

“They’ve never been mine!” I tell her in exasperation. It didn’t feel right, owning a person like a pet. I couldn’t help but feel guilty in their presence, an attitude Father would never allow.

Father would expect me to command respect the same way he did. He had never been kind to his slaves. Mother followed his lead.

“As a future magister, and heir of this house, you have to start accepting the power you are entitled to. Remember, our lives could have been very different.”

Yes, I could have grown up in an orphanage on the wrong side of Seheron. Lucky for me, Mother was pretty enough to serve at a tavern Magisters frequented during their obligatory tours of the Qunari wars. She tells a tale of love and romance, but I doubt it was Father’s intention to sire a mage with a laetan. Decades of noble-mage breeding thrown away on a single night with a bar wench.

Mother holds her forefinger above my head so I twirl for her inspection. She spends her days imitating the air of those who believed they deserved power because she was once a common mage. My birth had secured her place at Father’s side, if not in his bed.

“Stop worrying,” Mother fusses flattening the crease between my brows with her thumbs. “One day soon this will be as easy as breathing, you’ll see.”

 

 

The party begins in the evening, just before the torches are lit. I think that's appropriate, if not predictable. 

Taeran is standing just outside of the banquet hall with an exceptionally beautiful brunette. Wrapped in black cloaks, he holds a basket of red roses, each tied with a golden ribbon, and she a basket of thick cigars. Taeran smiles at me as I approach.

"This is Fioris!" he tells me. He hands me a rose as she bows. 

"It's an honour to meet you, my lady." 

"Where are you from, Fioris?" I ask smelling my rose. 

"House Tilani, my lady," Fioris holds out her branded hand. 

"Lady Maevaris is here then?" I ask picturing the sultry blond. 

"I am indeed!" Two rosey arms wrap around my waist and I'm lifted up off the ground. 

"Mae!" I shriek. She drops me and wraps me in a warm hug. I smell blackberries as her blond bob tickles my nose.

She pulls back holding me at shoulder length. Her sky blue eyes shift over me from under a birdcage veil. "Don't you just look as pretty as a painting!" She always speaks in such a way that makes you feel like you've done something naughty, or are about to. "I told you a couple jewels would do you wonders." 

I blush and avoid her eyes, looking instead at the blue feathers that fan from the top of her dress.  

"Aren't you happy to see me, darling?"

"Yes, of course!" I laugh, still embarrassed. "I'm just surprised, weren't you leaving for your honeymoon last I saw you?"

"Life is a honeymoon, darling," Mae slips her arm around mine and leads me into the banquet hall. "Thorold got caught up with his cousin in Kirkwall, something about work that just couldn't wait. You know how dwarves are; business, business, business."

"So he isn't with you?" I frown. Thorold Tethras was a warm respite amongst the cold of calculating eyes. 

"No, no. I wasn't about to miss your party to stay in some foreign mountain range! The Marchers don't know the meaning of class! I dropped by our," Mae squirms at the word 'our'. " _Our_ holdings, picked up Fioris, and shot over the Nordic Sea."

I roll my eyes, she'd traveled most of Eastern Thedas. "You make it sound like a short trip."  

"Well, the rumour that your Father was looking for mares did speed my way," she walks her fingers up my arm and casts them out at my elbow.

"Fioris is beautful, healthy even - you've been kind to her," I say, quietly.

"She is one of my prides, tragic story-" Mae shrugs off my appreciation. "You'll take care of her while she's here, won't you darling?" 

"I'll do my best."

Mae nods effectively ending the conversation. She pauses and takes in the banquet hall. "Your mother has out done herself this year," she says with a hand over her heart. 

The banquet hall is an expertly crafted hurricane of reds and golds. Half columns skirt the outer edge supporting great vases of roses. From each tier of the carved  ceiling hang candled chandeliers. They cast a warm yellow glow across the cream clothed tables and ivory place settings. 

"I suppose you'll be sitting at the head table?" Mae asks. "I'm right here," she pulls out a nearby chair. Each is covered in layers of golden cotton and tied with a red velvet bow. She pulls her sapphire glass enchanter staff from her back and lays it across the table before sitting. When she does, the peacock feather train of her dress fans out beneath her. My eyes drift back to the gleaming sapphires at the head of her staff. It's completely unique. 

Mae notices my appraisal. "Finally interested in staves? It's about time I rubbed off on you." Mae wiggles her tailored eyebrows at me and I blush at her double-meaning. "Have they scheduled your Harrowing yet?" 

"The day after tomorrow," I say. The Harrowing is a public ritual held to test my ability as a mage. If I pass I will be recognized as an adult mage of the Imperium, and be able to apprentice under a Magister. I suppose it should worry me more, but I've been training with Father for so long it seems more like a formality at this point. 

"Have you decided where you'll have yours crafted? If you want it long? Maybe you'd prefer it a bit girthier?"

I watch the currant of black cloaked slaves move through the small sea of guests, trying to ignore her baiting. Most of them have staves, which does nothing for my burning cheeks. I notice some even have elven body guards. "No," I tell her noticing one man, perhaps in his early fifties, who moves with an ebony armoured elf as his shadow. I would have missed them except for the elf's stark white hair. "Stop it," I laugh when I look back at her faux horrified expression.

"No?!" Mae shrieks. "What about which school you'll tailor it for?" 

"I suppose I'm waiting to see which school takes," I smile, a white lie. I won't be telling her that I want a duel headed staff. I want to be able to cast with nature and spirit both - spirit when Father is around, nature when he isn't. Mae frowns like she can read my thoughts. It isn't that I don't trust her. I'd even consider her a friend. She's just too good at playing the game.

I spot a familiar set of ice coloured eyes over an emerald scarf. "I'll come and see you after dinner," I say quickly heading towards them.

"You better," Mae calls after me. "That dreadful Erimond boy is at my table!"

Hadriana rests her hip against a column as she watches the crowd. Her scarf wraps down her neck and over her shoulders, set with an emerald where the hollow of her throat would be seen otherwise. Her charcoal brown hair falls pin straight to the middle of her back.

"I was wondering when you'd come to see me," she says without looking at me.  "Look at all the flies you've attracted with your honey, Evie. Even the Emperor of Elves is here." 

I follow her gaze to Raphael whose charming a blush to Mother's cheeks. He's an image in virgin white robes and black details. His troop of eleven women, whom he affectionally calls his 'ladies-in-waiting', have earned him that nickname. They stand just behind him, matching in white cloaks and sheer black lace bodysuits, thick enough just where it counts. 

"He never goes anywhere without them," I sigh. "And Mother wishes he was my suitor."  

Hadriana scoffs. "Well, if you want to marry for money like what's her name -" she nods to Mae with a note of disgust. The blond is laughing too hard beside a man with a jet black ponytail, Livius Erimond.

Her bark is worse than her bite, and the insult is more because of Mae's companion. If she knew the newlyweds she wouldn't say such things. I run my fingers threw her hair gently at an attempt of comfort. "What's wrong, Ri?" 

Hadriana steps out of my reach and casts me a dirty look. "I didn't say anything was wrong," she spits, but even when she was a girl, Hadriana's eyes had given her away.

I cross my arms over my chest and wait for her to come around. Patience is a virtue when it comes to Hadriana. Vulnerability is a weakness in her eyes, one that had seen her hurt more than her fair share. She wouldn't tell you, but Hadriana's parents hadn't a magical bone in their bodies. 

Hadriana's father tended a bar back in Seheron, the very same Mother once worked at. The two had been friends until Mother left for the city, as she tells it.

Some time after her marriage to Father, a scared little girl with the same dark hair and light eyes as the tender, arrived on our doorstep. She was escorted by a Black Templar. The Templar told the slave who greeted him that he had only been paid to take her one way and left. Mother tried to send her to an orphanage but she escaped the slave ordered to take her by freezing him in place. 

Weeks later a letter came for Mother. It read that the girl was the tender's daughter - if she would so humbly remember them, he wrote - and she had shown magical talent, of course that had become obvious. The tender begged that Mother take Hadriana in. Mother told me she couldn't possibly say no, she and the girl had so much in common, both were orphan mages. I suspect the tender blackmailed her into the thought by mentioning his memory of her comparative laetan-hood.

Next thing I knew I had a shy older sister. The two of us had been as thick as theives when were younger, though her recent travels across the Imperium had left us more distant of late. She was searching for a Magister to apprentice under. Her parents expected her to use an apprenticeship to pull them out of Seheron.

"Your bid in Asareil didn't go as planned?" I coax. Her parents expected her to use an apprenticeship to pull them out of Seheron.

"Of course not," she spit. Her pale hand shoots out and picks a wine glass from a passing tray. There isn't an inch of her pale skin that isn't covered by her clinging teal dress, but for her hands. Even those are dressed with jewellery - intricately crossed chains connect green gem rings on her fingers to thick gold cuffs at her wrists. She downs the glasses contents. 

Hadriana had been careful about covering herself from before we were preteens. Livius, just a boy from a neighbouring manor at the time, had nicknamed her 'grey skin' because she was so pale. The name festered amoung the mage children until it was rumoured that Hadriana was half Qunari. She had dressed so modestly ever since, weary of torment. 

"No one will take me, I'm not powerful enough," she breathes after a moment. She picks at the dark leather chest piece strapped over her dress. 

"Yes you are -"

"Well then, I'm not noble enough. Take your pick." Hadriana fingers her wine glass. "At least one of those I can fix."

"Ri," I say in warning. 

"You don't understand," she whines. She pulls at her scarf. 

"I'm trying to." I knew it was almost impossible to become a member of the Magisterium if you weren't born into it. I also knew however, that Hadriana was tenacious. She would do anything to make it in Minrathous. I almost wish I could give her spot - almost.

"It isn't your fault," she looks up. "I can't hate you for being born into this. But, you'll never understand what it's like."

I open my mouth to protest but a bell chimes from the front. The many voices of the hall die quickly.

Father stands from the head table and spreads his arms wide. "Dinner is served!" The chain-mail under his blood red robes make him appear larger, more intimidating. Six others in Magister fashioned robes sit to his right while Mother sits on his left.

"We'll talk about this later," I promise. 

"Sure," Hadriana replies already moving to her table. 

I shake my head and hurry to my chair beside Mother.

Raphael winks a sand coloured eye at me. He pulls my chair out for me as the slaves converge from all corners of the room. The soup cauldrons are over-large, it's a wonder some of the elves can manage them. 

"Thank him," Mother whispers harshly. 

"Thank-you, Raphael," I say quickly skirting the chair forward for myself. 

"Anything for you, my lady," I think he pushes the words out so I smell the mint on his breath. He smile widens when I shiver. He makes to sit beside me.

"What are you doing?" I say in alarm. 

"The Archon won't be arriving until after dinner, he's running late," Mother says with a tight smile. 

"Your Mother invited me to sit with you in his stead," Raphael says. 

I look between them rapidly. Raphael sits before I can think of an excuse. 

"Couldn't leave the birthday girl without an escort," Mother says. 

"No," Raphael's red lips part and his canines wink at me. 

"No," I repeat. I stare down as the first course appears under my nose. 

"Hey," he says, pulling my chin up with soft fingers. He's never been partial to my personal space. "Happy birthday, Evening," he leans forward and his lips brush my cheek. For a moment I'm all but sixteen again. 

__I'm standing in the courtyard._ I'm standing under a rose arbour. I'm standing with Raphael Apherian. I'm standing in the courtyard under a rose arbour with Raphael Apherian - I can't believe it. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. I hope my palms aren't clammy in his. I want to take them and run them through his auburn hair. Everyone will be so happy that he's chosen me. If only he would lean a little closer -_

"I am glad the starlight has not faded from your eyes," he whispers in Tevene. 

A lady-in-waiting giggles behind me and the moment is broken. I pull back sharply, stunned. 

Raphael's eyes hardenand he turns on them. "Off with you!" They scurry back into the shadows. 

"You shouldn't be angry at them for reacting in the way you've trained them to," I say before I can stop myself. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"You reward them for fawning at your every whim, Raphael. And then you scold them for the same thing?" I pick up my spoon. I'm anxious for something to do with my hands even though I've lost my appetite. "That's hardly fair."

"Fair? Evening, they're slaves. They don't know the meaning of the word - they don't care!" 

"I very much doubt that."

"Your concern, if anything, confuses them." Raphael runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Your soft touch is adorable, darling, but I'd thought now that'd you'd come of age you'd have grown out of it."

"And I'd thought you'd have grown out of being an -"

"Evening!" Mother scolds. "I'll remind the both of you that this is a celebration."

"Of course, Mother."

"My deepest regrets, Lady Alexius."

Mother sits back with a nod. She smooths the napkin in her lap. "Now, it's been a long time since you've been in Minrathous, hasn't it Raphael?"

The first course is already being taken away and replaced. At least this will go quickly.

"Yes," says Raphael, ever composed again. "I've bought up properties all along the coast including two here in the city." 

Mother nudges me under the table. 

I clear my throat. "What avenue of business are you looking to pursue?"

"I want to make my ladies dancers," he replies with affluence. "Magister Tiberius has connected me with members of the senate across the country. I've yet to disappoint with my proposals - my presentations, if you will."

"That's wonderful news, what type of dance?" asks Mother. 

"Well, you see, contradictory to popular belief," Raphael looks at me pointedly. "I think the elven form is absolutely magnificent. Truly a wonder in Thedas. Any dance that accentuates their beauty is the personification of art -"

"They are beautiful creatures," Mother agrees. 

"I'm also considering a traveling caravan." To his credit, he makes his business sound sophisticated. "Classically trained talent hireable for entertainment at the most prestigious parties." 

"The boys will love that," I say. 

"The Archon certainly did," Raphael laughs.

Mother laughs too. Father calls her attention as the second round of plates are being cleared. Raphael leans towards me during the distraction. His fingers ghost across my throat as he pulls back my curls. I freeze.

"But I've something special for the refined palate of a woman as well." His breath is hot against my exposed neck. My heart starts pounding against my rib cage. I start when I feel Raphael's palm settle just above my knee but I regain my composure quickly. Mother doesn't notice. I'm determined to keep looking forward. 

"Something just waiting to be ravished," his whispers, his hand slides upwards. "I'd love for you to see them." I grab his hand under the table before it slides up to the juncture of my thighs. He flips my palm and caresses my wrist with feather light fingers. "We could watch them together."

My heart is clutching but I can't tell if that's because he makes me nervous, or anxious. The blood has drained from my finger tips leaving them cold. It's hard to draw breath but I can't tell if I'm panting out of fear or lust. I wonder if I'm excited that this man wants me. I wonder if this is what this is supposed to feel like. 

I hear the faintest twinkling ring of a chain. A thick, binding chain I've heard a thousand times before. I look up. 

Over the heads of all the otherwise absorbed guests, a Black Templar towers over Taeran in his plate armour. He pulls on the chain dangling from his hand and a man stumbles forward. 

Our eyes connect. His flash like gems in firelight. For a breath we're the only two in the manor. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Dragon Age Wiki. http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_The_Four_Schools_of_Magic:_Creation


	3. Dinning with Magisters (Part Two)

He doesn't look away from me. There is no fear in his eyes. I’m enraptured. Oblivious, admittedly, over the heads of all the most notable people in Tevinter - the place I must be most composed.

I see the thick iron chains that are locked around his wrists in the edges of my vision. My eyes cannot stray from his, but I know they are there. Even so, he stands like they are not. They are a minor hinderance, a mere annoyance, perhaps. I feel in my bones that this man, contrary to every physical piece of evidence, is a free man.

An elvhen maid walks between our line of sight, breaking my appraisal. The after dinner sweets are served in crystal bowls. When she moves, the man is hidden behind the hulking black Templar.

Raphael takes a bite of the iced cream. He moans softly around the provided tiny silver spoon, engraved with Tevene heraldry. "This is magnificent!" His fingers interlock with mine, I grimace trying to keep my index finger from cutting him. 

"It's Evening's favourite," Mother smiles eagerly. Father stands beside her and she jumps, "Oh!"

Mother rubs her hands on the napkin in her lap while Father looks down the line of his nose at her. I can almost hear his thoughts of scolding. She takes her glass in her hand and taps her spoon against it, standing beside Father as the room quiets to the tinkling.  

"Friends, colleagues, and esteemed members of the senate. Today, we are gathered to welcome my strong daughter into the mighty embrace of the Imperium," Father's thin lips pull as close to a smile as they can as he looks at me. He closes his eyes and tilts his head respectfully. I mirror him.  

"On this, her eighteenth birthday, she not only crosses the threshold into adulthood, but stands among us as a proud Altus mage with the pure lineage of my father, and his father, and all of his fathers until the old gods."

Whispers creep upon the room as Father speaks of my connection to his line. He's asserting that his line is dominant, so much so that it suppresses Mother's less impressive line. His, he was convicting, was the only one that mattered. 

"In a few days time, she will complete her Harrowing. My daughter is powerful, her ingenuity rivals my own. I have seen a passion in her that burns like the fires of the dragons that represent us. While my son plays at wars that hinder our arcane expenditures and advancements -"

"Oh Father," I say quietly. I should have known he would use my party as a moment to advance his political agenda. This is the game we play. 

" - I pray that he will return safely to my family, but Evening, my child, my heir -"

I shift uneasily as do the nobles assembled. I am not Father's heir. Felix is the heir to the Alexius name, to Father's seat in the senate. Anything else would go against tradition. 

" - shares my heart's wish to return the Imperium to its former and almighty glory. She who has remained by my side, learning and honing her ability. May she rival the all but the Archon," Father raises his glass and a sea of glasses rise before him. He turns to me. "To you, my daughter. Happy birthday." 

Raphael squeezes my hand then withdraws it to clap with the crowd. I smile gracefully, suddenly under the eye of every magister in Tevinter.

"Come," Raphael orders, drawing me up as Father asks our guests to retire to the courtyard so the tables can be cleared for the ball. He twines our hands again and saunters to the hallway, his elven ladies following quietly in our shadows.

"Congratulations, my lady," says Taeran, as we pass. He reaches out for me, his eyes wide with excitement. "I have to -"

Raphael snatches his wrist from the air and bends it downwards. Taeran yelps in surprise, his pale forearm seemingly dainty compared to the thick muscles that strain against the stark leather of Raphael's sleeves.

"You," Raphael says with vehemence. "Do not touch a lady." 

Taeran cowers beneath his mage master. His dark hair falls over his eyes as he trains them on the floor.

"Raphael -" I begin. 

He twists Taeran's arm harder, sending the elf onto his knees. "You have just become one of the most powerful young women in the Imperium, Evening. You won't be seen in the embrace of a slave!"

I bite my lip, swallowing hard. He was right. I was suddenly aware of the eyes passing out of the grand hall. Everything was happening so quickly, my magic tingled in my chest under the stress. 

"Apologize." Raphael growls. 

"I'm sorry, Mistress. Please, make him stop." 

I give him a curt nod. It was all I could manage.

Raphael takes my hand and tucks it into his arm. He mistakes my indecision for trepidation. "It's alright, Evening. Another man will never lay hands on you so long as I'm around." 

I try to catch Taeran's eye as Raphael drags me onward. I notice the ladies-in-waiting converge on him, shielding him from prying eyes. A young woman with hair the colour of an orange sunset meets my eye. She holds a finger to her lips. 

I turn and move into the night air with the Emperor of Elves. 

 

A thousand stars glimmer softly against the night. Patches of smokey grey sky peak around wide hung golden banners. 

Many of the nobles linger within the archways on the edges of the courtyard, content within the warm glow of the torches. The firelight from the halls makes the jeweled curtains shimmer like water, golden falls. Those behind it might have been transient. They were luminous ghosts seeking the Veil, ignorant to those within the courtyard. 

My steps are softened by the rose pedals that litter the paths, but the quiet doesn't fool me. I look at Raphael's hand, palm to palm with mine. I can feel magic brushing against mine, trying to coax it into a dance.

We pass Mae on our way to the vine canopy. She quirks an eyebrow at me, arm in arm with Livius. I blush and Raphael winks at her. I'm surprised by his open affection for me. There was a time, not so long ago, when I had to fight for his attention. I pull my magic close to my heart, wary. 

"It's been quite the night for you, Evening," Raphael tells me. His voice is soft, drifting like the lazy clouds in the sky. "Everyone is watching you very closely, seeing who you'll choose." 

"You overestimate the attention of the magisters," I chew on my lip. "It is fleeting at best, tomorrow it will be on someone else." 

"You're wrong," Raphael stops, bringing me around so my back is to one of the columns of the canopy. He takes a step closer to me. "You're a star against an ocean of black." 

I take a step back, but with our hands intertwined there isn't far to go. 

"You're eyes are more beautiful than the moon, Evening." 

I frown, his compliments seem rehearsed. I look up into his eyes, they seem smaller now that he has grown into his head. His auburn hair is blood red in the low light. 

"You're -"

"This is very sudden, Raphael," I interrupt him as he reaches for my cheek. 

"What do you mean?" he runs his thumb from my cheekbone to my lips.

I take his wrist and lower it gently. "We aren't the same, remember? You told me that."

"That was then, this is now." 

"What's changed?" 

Raphael takes another step and I'm back against the column, I've no room to retreat. 

"We were children, Eve -"

"Don't call me that, you know I hate it."

"But I don’t. It sounds older, sexy," Raphael leans his forearm on the column above me. "Things change, Eve. We're older. I want you."

Raphael leans his face close to mine. I can smell the leather of his jacket and his breath, damp with wine. Now his magic reaches for mine. He lets it press against my aura, aware. It's heavy like over-indulgence, decadent and oppressive. 

"I can feel your power, Eve," his lips ghost over mine. "I couldn't before, but now I know it, I want it. You want it too."

I shiver and place my palm on his chest, halting his advances. "I don't believe you," I say quietly, and then his kisses me.

It's my first kiss since my first kiss, which was also with the Emperor of Elves. His mouth is hot and wet. His tongue pushes into my mouth and I kiss him back, awkwardly. I'm unsure, it's obvious when our teeth knock together, but I want to have someone. I wait to feel connected to him. Raphael is powerful and coveted by women across Tevinter, I tell myself. It feels good, I suppose, but only physically. I wonder if this is how love is supposed to feel. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck.

"Easy, tiger," Raphael pulls away and separates my arms. I blink through the sting of his rejection, confused. "There will be plenty of time for that," he presses his hips against mine and I feel he's hard through the thin fabric of my dress.

"So you want to court me?" I whisper.

"Who wouldn't want to court you?" Raphael smirks like he has a secret. "Of course, I'll be away a lot because of my business ventures. But when I'm here, I'm here with you, and only you."

"So you want to court me when it's convenient," I snort. 

"It's an advantageous match," Raphael moves his hands to my waist. They dwarf my sides. "Now that you're old enough to put those childish ideals aside, you have a shot to be truly magnificent by my side. I'll show you off to everyone," he says like it's a prize. "Formally, you'll be mine, but with my line of work, and the lay of our - way of our land. Besides," Raphael tucks a stray curl behind my ear. "Don't you want to wait until marriage?" 

My mouth opens but I'm too stunned to speak. Raphael takes the opportunity to kiss me again. 

"My lady." 

I start and push Raphael away, trying to see around him. Raphael growls, "You, again? Don't you know not to interrupt a magister?"

Taeran shifts so I can see him around Raphael. His hands are hidden by his over-large cloak. "My lady, Master Alexius has summoned you back to the ballroom for gifts." 

"Your slaves should only speak when ordered to," Raphael bulks. He pushes off the column and moves to stand in front of Taeran. To his credit, the elf doesn't cower this time. "Shouldn’t you, boy?"

"Raphael -" I sigh. 

Taeran doesn't say anything. 

"Well?" Raphael puts his hands on his hips. 

"You told me not to speak, my lord." 

"You little -" Raphael raises his hand. 

"Raphael!" I demand. My words don't stop him. He mutters something and the shoulder of Taeran's cloak catches fire. Taeran, too shocked to call out, spins furiously, trying to clutch his cloak to pull it off. The fire moves, spreads, lighting down the length of the cotton to its hem.

I move quickly, instinctually imposing on Taeran's mind so he doesn't scream. My aura extends past my chest. It's a shock of elation, adrenaline and freedom. The feeling reverberates in my bones as it engulfs Taeran. A black glaze comes over his eyes. He stills.

"That's no fun, Evening. What point is there if the others don't learn from his example," Raphael whines. He wants Taeran to cause a scene.

The fire licks towards Taeran's face as he stands there, helpless. My heart hammers so hard in my chest I think I might collapse. My magic screams for more, punching against my rib cage. "Put it out, Raphael," I order, trying to keep the waver from my voice. 

Raphael gives me a hard look. I think I have to save Taeran, but I can't. Not in front of everyone. Father will find out. He'll make me practice foul magic on slaves in the dungeons, or he'll educate me on what they feel like. I'm a coward.

"He's a stallion, Raphael. Do you want to risk angering Gereon?" I ask, remembering my father. If I don't scare Raphael, my father should.

Raphael curses and snaps his fingers; the fire snuffs out. He folds his arms over his chest.

A hole has burned through Taeran's cloak. His shoulder is exposed, a mixture of red and charred black skin. I swallow hard - what have I allowed?

"You're right, Eve, it's only a slave," Raphael takes my shoulders. "You'll consider my offer?"

"What?" I keep my hands in fists at my sides. The diamond nails cut into my palms. 

"You'll be mine?"

I nod because I want to release Taeran from my spell. I want to get him away from the Emperor of Elves and his tyranny. My magic hisses at Raphael, it wants to take him as well. Am I the dragon or the serpent?

"Magnificent," Raphael kisses me. "I'll find you later for a dance." 

"Take me to Father," I order the half conscious elf. Taeran nods and I feel sick to my stomach. I can control another person like this - it isn't right that one person can have this much power over another. He leads me along the far wall of the garden. Luckily, the magisters have already returned for the ball.

We enter into the south hall, where there is a small intricately carved door. It's the back door into the grand hall.

"Wait," I say, halting Taeran from opening it. I raise my hand and swipe at the nearest torches. They all die to embers, casting us in shadow.

I step close to Taeran. He looks without seeing over my shoulder, just tall enough that he might prop his pointed chin there in another circumstance. I freeze my hands, flinching against the ice. I untie the elf's cloak. The cloth isn't as fine as it could be. It's waxy, stiff. It crumples to the floor.

The shoulder of his formal wear is burned through as well. I place my palms over the burn, it's almost larger than them both together. "I'm sorry," I whisper. I wish I could heal him. The softer of my magic tickles my fingers, wanting to bring light into our world. But Raphael would see him healed, he would wonder. I couldn't risk it. 

Cold creeps from my fingers, crawling down his arm and towards his chest under his ebony vest. I stop before I come close to his heart, I don't want to cause him more harm. I hope that the freezing is enough to keep through the night. He'll have limited use of his arm, but he'll avoid curious eyes if he isn't grimacing throughout the dance. I let go and pick up his cloak. 

"Wake up," I snap my fingers in front of him. The black turns to smoke and puffs out of his eyes into the night air. 

Taeran blinks rapidly. His eyes widen when they find mine. "What -" he catches himself and bows his head, fearful. He begins to shake against the cold in his arm.  

"I put you to sleep," I pull a handkerchief from under my corset. "I'm sorry, I didn't want you to feel any pain." Taeran’s slim shoulders quake. "May I?" 

Taeran meets my eyes, looking quickly from the fabric. I lift his arm and tie it over his shoulder. 

"I can't feel that," Taeran whispers. 

"I've frozen your arm. You shouldn't feel this until later, when you're safely behind closed doors."

"I couldn't move. It was like I was floating above my body. I saw, but I couldn't," Taeran looks away from my ministrations. "Now I know why they wanted your favour." 

"Who?"

"The elves in the magisters’ clothing." 

I shake my head. "Did they tell you this?"

He tells me they didn't. "But why else would they heal me?"

"You're kin, why wouldn't they?"

Taeran puts his hand on my shoulder, pushing me back so he can look me in the eye. He's serious suddenly. I realize we're very close in age, maybe a year between us. "Slaves don't help slaves, my lady. They help magisters." He pulls his hand away and fiddles with the fabric. 

Raphael made his intentions clear in the courtyard, perhaps his ladies knew them as well. Maybe they thought they could come into my service if Raphael and I were to wed. He had shown today how little he cared for the treatment of slaves. I didn't want to imagine what he did to them.

"I'm glad they helped you," I distract myself. "I shouldn't have let him -"

"It's alright, my lady. I was stupid."

"Go and find Mava. Tell her I ordered you find another cloak, that this one smelled of moth balls and it disgusted me," I hand the cloak back to Taeran. "You have to be more careful around men like Raphael," I admonish him. "They're dangerous, you never know how they will react. I might not be there next time to protect you."

Taeran gave me a curious look, his jade coloured eyes burrowing into me. He shook his head and moved to hold the door for me. 

"What is it?" I ask as I look into the room. Father stands at the head of the room with his wrists clasped behind his back. The nobles are assembling into a crowd before him, many holding ebony envelopes that stand out against the rich colours of their formal wear. 

"Just, my lady, who will protect you?" 

I meet Taeran's eye and shiver. "Go," I say. "Mava, remember. Don't be seen until you've a new cloak."

He nods, picking up his cloak. I watch him until he finds the servant's passage imbedded in the hall before the doors to the next wing of the Manor. The wall slides out and he disappears behind it. I bring the torches back up with a flick of my hand and step into the ballroom. 

 

The forest of men and elves part as I come before them. My boots click, with each beat the voices quiet. I avoid their cloaks to Father's side in front of the head table, the only one that hasn't been taken from the room.

Samlasan, Father's favourite slave bodyguard, bows lowly as I approach. The firelight plays over his shaved head. He stands just behind Father, his ruby red eyes appraising but respectful.

I've said before that Adorala was the largest and strongest elf that I'd ever met. I clarify now that she was, but only naturally. Many slaves, like Samlasan, were enhanced by their master's magic.

Samlasan is hulking, his leathery dark skin somehow massaged over his thick arms and bare chest. The strange texture is the effect of his muscles being augmented to their full potential. What he was naturally has been forgotten through Father's many experiments. His errie eyes, for example, were traded for with his voice.

I tilt my head to Father and stand between he and Samlasan. Many fake smiles greet me from the crowd gathered before us. 

I look back at Samlasan. The last memory I have of him speaking is from my childhood, before Hardianna. He paints his skin to express himself now. For my birthday, gold vines snake around his forearms and ribcage, seen where the folds of his black cloak hang open. Three large one-handed swords hang from the belt at his hip.

Samlasan taps his nose, drawing my eyes to his lips. The upper is painted bright red, and the lower the same gold as his chest. He spares me a secret, menacing smile of pointed teeth. I think it means; _H_ _appy birthday, my lady. I'll be watching._ Samlasan has been around since before Mother and I. I imagine he suspects he'll be here long after as well. 

The procession starts first with those who have brought coins or lands or jewels. They present their black envelopes to Father for me. He stands with his hands clasped behind his red robes and nods graciously. With every approval, Samlasan reaches across me and takes the gifts. He sets them on the head table and slaves scurry from the shadows to take them elsewhere.

I sigh with relief when Taeran comes to collect the tenth package. He looks a little worse for wear, tired circles starting under his eyes. But he hides his pain well, and keeps up with the others. 

After the first wave of gifts, a band sets up in the centre of the ball room. Mother guides three women dressed in thin, violet dresses there. One carries a harp, one a flute and the last a lute. The melodies that follow are surprisingly sharp, edged by beautiful. 

Mae ignores formality when it's her turn. She walks right up to me with a giant wooden crate and plops it before me. 

"Go on then," she says, ignoring Father's scowl. "You must have some pent up frustration for all this nonsense, already. Crack it open." 

"With magic?" I ask, stunned. I can't help but smile back at her. 

"No, with Maker-damned brute-us over here. Yes! With magic, child!" Mae swings her blonde curls hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Gently," Father warns when I raise my fist. I wonder if he can sense my excitement. I bring my fist back behind me, standing like Father, even as I channel my mana through the soles of my feet. 

Mae frowns at the both of us. "Well?"

I feel my magic grow up out of the marble floors and cast around the box. I feign non-chalance. 

"Don't make me-"

The box shatters with a loud bang. The band falters, the beat tripping over the noise. Mae shrieks and I laugh out loud. Then I stop suddenly realizing within the box is another box. I explode the inner crate only to find another, and then another. 

"Mae!" I whine. The magisters who have taken to mingling after presenting their penance come stop to see the commotion. Within the third box is a fourth, and the fourth is empty. 

Mae giggles and wraps her arms around me. I blush scarlet matching my jodhpurs. 

"It's nothing!" she exclaims. "You got me! That's enough isn't it!" she let's go and laughs again. "I mean of course I'll be the one taking you shopping for your staff. Don't look at me like that!" 

"That will be expensive, Mae," I warn, feeling only warmth for my friend. 

"Hush, I married into a dwarven family, child. They mine gold for Maker's sake." Mae smiles at Father. 

"Thank you, Lady Tilani," he says. 

"Yes well," Mae says, flattening her skirts to regain her composure. She winks at me. "I'm off to find a drink." 

Hadriana follows after Mae. She presents Father with a golden lockbox, then passes it to Samlasan. She bows to me. "I've spelled it to only open for you," she says quietly. She fidgets with her scarf. "I'm sorry I was short with you earlier."

She retreats before I can reply. 

A cold chill sets at the base of my spine, suddenly. But if it's because of the distance I feel from Hadrianna, I can't be sure.

"Father -" I say, quietly, unsure. I almost cough as my magic clenches painfully, fluttering violently within my chest. Every warning bell within me jumps to attention. I reach out for him, catching his wrist. 

Father's dark eyes twist between concern and disappointment in my public display of contact. "What is it, Evie?"

"Do you feel -"

"Announcing," calls the greeter from the front room. "His lordship, Archon Davan."

 

 


End file.
